


narrative

by thunderylee



Category: NewS (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Canon Universe, Discussion of Rape Culture, Gen, LGBTQ Themes, Lots of cuddles, Slice of Life, also cuddles, feminist shige, feminist shige gets another tag, fuckboy koyama, fuckboy tegoshi, gay wedding, i know nothing about japanese contract law, kanjani8 cameo, kat-tun cameo, member love, social justice meta, that's what happens when there's no porn, the burning sun scandal, this is pure self indulgence, too much dialogue, yamapi cameo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 18:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Shige leads a revolution at home.





	narrative

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this to make myself feel better about the state of the world atm. it worked, kinda.

Shige can’t count on both hands how many times he’s been spoken to directly by Takizawa Hideaki, and all were before the age of sixteen. Even back then, it wasn’t just the two of them, seated across from each other in a scarcely decorated office like they’re regular salary men instead of idols.

It feels like an alternate universe to see such a successful senpai behind a desk instead of Julie or one of their managers. Shige finds irony in Takki looking even more tired than when he’d been performing, like he loses more sleep producing than his smorgasbord of stage plays, dramas, and solo work that made Nishikido Ryo’s schedule with _two_ groups look like a vacation.

“Is it time for my contract negotiation already?” Shige asks warily, trying not to look too nervous or awkward around his estranged colleague turned boss. Usually, he meets with his manager and gives the paperwork a quick skim (thank you, Aoyoma pre-law) before signing his life away for another few years, but perhaps the process has changed along with new management.

“No.” Takki folds his hands on the desk and regards Shige with a friendly smile. “I’m meeting with all of the talents to discuss work/life balance and employee morale.”

Shige raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve been taking business classes online,” Takki explains, and suddenly Shige understands why the older man is so exhausted. He couldn’t imagine going back to school at their age. “As you may have noticed,” Takki goes on, “we had a lot of turnover last year. What do you think we could do to improve working conditions so that our talents will want to remain with the agency for the lengths of their careers?”

“Would you like a list?” Shige blurts out without thinking, an incredulous laugh slipping out before he remembers where he is and quickly bows his head sheepishly. “I mean, with all due respect, I do have some suggestions.”

“Please speak freely, Kato-kun,” Takki says, and Shige looks up to see a faint spark of amusement in those tired eyes. “I didn’t take this job to get my ass kissed. I’ve had enough of that already. Now, let’s hear your list.”

“What have you heard already?” Shige asks, still skeptical of Takki’s openness to criticism. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s given solicited feedback only to have it come back to bite him; he’s still salty about last year’s “sensitivity awareness” training that was more about keeping their mouths shut around women instead of learning how to view them as human beings worthy of dignity and respect.

Takki chuckles like he knows exactly what Shige’s doing, and maybe he does. He’s undoubtedly been in this position before, many times, but to his credit, all he does is click around his laptop and bring up a spreadsheet.

“Lighter workloads, opportunities outside of performing, relevant training such as singing and dancing lessons provided by the agency,” Takki reads off. “Nearly everyone with whom I’ve spoken wants to get rid of the no-dating rule, and a few even mentioned allowing girls to audition and forming mixed groups.”

Now both of Shige’s eyebrows are up in his hairline. “Girls in Johnny’s? Do you want a sexual harassment lawsuit?”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he realizes how problematic they are, but Takki just nods like that was his _first_ thought. “I’m not saying it’s going to happen tomorrow, but it’s definitely something I’m thinking about. Julie’s been campaigning for it since she was old enough to speak, but the old man has always shot it down. I may be pushing 40, but I’m not nearly as old-fashioned as him.”

Shige’s still blinking in disbelief at the thought of inviting _girls_ into the patriarchal lion’s den. “You would need better sensitivity training if you go that route,” he says firmly. “Some of these boys have never been around girls who aren’t their mothers and sisters and it shows.”

Takki nods again, a grin slowly forming on his face that seems out of place until he speaks again. “This is your influence, did you know? The talents who suggested it all cited your essay after last year’s Grammy’s and how it opened their eyes to the blatant sexism in their very own workplace. Although, I’m not confident that their intentions are purely about gender equality...”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” Shige pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’ll have to do a lot of traditional mindset reversing before even proposing the idea, especially to the public. No one wants to send their precious daughter to work with a hoard of horny teenage boys who are historically dispositioned to objectify her because they were taught that women only exist for romantic and/or sexual partnerships.”

“It will be a challenge, but it’s not impossible,” Takki says, and Shige wonders if Takki has any idea what’s going on in the world outside of his sparkly idol life. “Like I said, it’s not going to happen tomorrow, but I’d like to plant the seed in everyone’s minds so our talents can start learning how they will adapt to a mixed working environment. And get the public outrage out of the way.”

“As long as you’re anticipating that...” Shige sighs as he figures this has nothing to do with him. “I wish you luck on your transition.”

“Luck?” Takki repeats. “Kato-kun, I want you to _lead_ this transition.”

“Excuse me?” Shige squawks.

“Are you not the published feminist of the agency?” Takki asks, and Shige frowns because he’s _right_. “I’m surprised it’s not number one on your agenda. Or is promoting equality only okay when you’re not personally involved?”

Being in a group with Koyama and Tegoshi doesn’t leave Shige many opportunities to feel like a misogynistic piece of shit, but this is definitely one of those times. “I suppose I need to learn how to adapt too,” he admits.

“You will undoubtedly get there before anyone else,” Takki says gently. “And when you do, I want you to put together a proposal of feasible ways we can achieve this goal with a timeline of, let’s say, two years. If you don’t, I’m sad to say there won’t be much hope of doing it without becoming an unintended contributor to the hashtag me-too era.”

Shige sighs again, now for a different reason. “I’ll do my best,” he mutters, his mind already racing with ideas and possible outcomes, none of which are favorable.

“Atta boy,” Takki says, and while it feels weird to be praised by this one, it’s still nice to hear. “Now, what’s on _your_ list of improvements?”

“LGBTQ representation,” Shige begins, much happier focusing on his own complaints than leading the feminist revolution in his own backyard. “Mental health awareness. Charity work. I cosign on the agency providing singing and dancing lessons too—that would have definitely helped me out.”

“What about the no-dating rule?” Takki asks after he finishes typing the new entries in his spreadsheet. “The best argument I’ve heard in favor of abolishing it is that it indirectly leads to even more scandals, because the talents are forced to have secret trysts instead of healthy relationships.”

Shige shrugs. “I’m not personally affected by that rule, so I don’t have an opinion. That argument makes sense though.”

“You don’t date?” Takki asks incredulously.

“Nope,” Shige answers. “I like being alone.”

Takki’s eyes are suddenly more awake as they grow larger in awe. “You don’t get lonely?”

“I do, but it’s not worth the hassle to intertwine my life with another person’s,” Shige explains, trying not to look too aggravated at having to defend his life choices to his _boss_. “Even if it weren’t forbidden in my contract, even if the public didn’t scrutinize my every move and harass anyone with whom I would announce a relationship, I still don’t want the pressure of someone in my personal space. I’ve gotten used to doing what I want when I want, without asking for permission or explaining why, and I have no desire to compromise any of that.”

Takki blinks.

“I’d like to be able to say that publicly too,” Shige goes on, getting more heated up with the memory of each lie he’s told in interviews to maintain his image as an obtainable boyfriend. “I keep having to talk about what kind of girls I like and what my ideal relationship would be, misleading my fans to think that everyone has relationship goals. I don’t have any. My happily ever after is with NEWS and my books are my contribution to future generations.”

Takki stares at him for a few more seconds, then types some more. “Noted. What else?”

Shige takes a deep breath, calming down a little. “That’s all I have at the moment.”

“Let me know if you have anymore thoughts or suggestions.” Takki grabs a business card from the display on the corner of his desk and presents it to Shige, who accepts with both hands. “My personal email address is at the bottom. Feel free to send me any ideas you have, about anything. Everyone’s voice is important.”

Shige nods. “Will do. Thank you for listening to my concerns.”

“It’s unfortunate that you think that’s something you need to thank me for.” Takki frowns. “Things are going to change around here, okay? Accommodating management make for happy employees and happy employees make for satisfied customers. I don’t see a downside in putting forth the effort to retain our talents through every stage of their lives, whether they’re fresh juniors or seasoned veterans. You’re a person first, and an idol second.”

“You’re right,” Shige agrees, because Takki would know that better than anyone. “I really hope you succeed.”

“ _We_ succeed,” Takki corrects, and Shige feels a rush of importance that rivals any time he’s produced his solo or published a book.

Takki dismisses him then, and Shige leaves the executive floor of the jimusho with a very dazed, very overactive brain. His first instinct is to call Koyama and see if Takki’s talked to him yet, but he halts that line of action at the thought of Koyama’s reaction to allowing girls in Johnny’s. Tegoshi would undoubtedly be worse.

It’s Massu who gets the call, and the next hour finds them tucked away in the corner of a dive bar while Shige relays his entire conversation and continued shock at how seriously Takki is taking his new post.

Like every other time they’ve talked together over the course of their friendship, Massu lets Shige ramble on without interrupting, periodically nodding or offering other listening cues until Shige’s out of air and opinions, at least for the time being.

“I just told him I wanted to get married,” Massu says with a shrug, ignoring Shige’s gasp of surprise. “And maybe have a cooking show with you. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“You have someone you want to marry?!” Shige exclaims, struggling to keep his voice down. “That’s amazing, Taka! Who is she?”

Massu snorts. “You’ll find out if Takizawa-san isn’t all talk and no action. My sister says loads of new managers start off this way, only to blow off everything they hear and do what they think will make the most money. It’s about the bottom line no matter what, right? If the fans don’t like the idea of us ‘off the market’, they’re not going to buy albums or come to concerts. That’s why the no-dating rule exists.”

“The phrase ‘off the market’ implies that people are property to be owned and consumed,” Shige points out, and Massu rolls his eyes. “But you’re right. It’s so much more complicated than us just being happy. We have to be happy while still available for their unrealistic fantasies, because that’s what sells.”

“When you put it that way, adding girls won’t make a single bit of difference,” Massu scoffs. “It sounds like your impossible challenge will be changing the public’s mindsets moreso than the boys in our agency. We could respect the hell out of those girls and it will mean nothing if their fanbase is nothing but gross men who sexualize them like any other female idol in the industry.”

Shige’s stomach churns at the thought of anyone looking at a teenage girl that way, especially one as young as he was when he first joined. “Men are disgusting,” he spits out, and Massu’s knowing look doesn’t go unnoticed. “ _We_ are raised to be disgusting, and it’s my place as one of them to take responsibility for my own kind and do what I can to undo generations of problematic learning.”

“You’re going to single-handedly change the way men think about women in this era of me-too and rape apologists?” Massu asks sarcastically. “You may want to aim a little lower at first. We have two perfectly good fuckboys in our group you can start with.”

“Somehow, I think brainwashing the juniors will be easier.” Shige rubs his eyes. “The older we get, the more set in our ways we are.”

“At least they wouldn’t be working with any of the female juniors,” Massu goes on, and Shige breathes a sigh of relief at that. “And last year’s sensitivity training got them to stop talking about women completely, which has improved my life immensely.”

“Our fans _are_ mostly women,” Shige thinks out loud, and Massu nods. “That could work out in our favor, as they would likely be even more protective of the female juniors as they are of us. Sisterhood is real.”

“Maybe if you introduced the idea of female juniors as little sisters?” Massu suggests. “It’s not going to change how these guys look at _other_ girls, but it might keep ours safe until there are enough of them to offset the toxic masculinity and male privilege in the junior groups.”

“I like how you’re already thinking of them as ‘ours’,” Shige says, and Massu offers a small smile. “And how much toxic masculinity do teenage boys who regularly wear skirts and makeup really have?”

“Tegoshi,” is all Massu says, and Shige frowns. “One step at a time, Shige. You don’t have the change the world overnight.”

“But I do have to start with my own home,” Shige adds, and Massu drinks silently in the worst form of agreement.

*

Two decades of friendship and the first time Shige keeps anything from Koyama is when he hides his half-written proposal in a password-protected file on his laptop. He’s going to have to come clean eventually, especially when he heads the integration process, but not yet. There’s still a little while before he has to expose the worst side of his best friend, never mind that it’s something he should have done years ago.

In the middle of the Worldista tour, during a rare break, he decides to test the waters. “Did you guys hear about those K-pop idols who shared those sex videos?”

He purposely doesn’t use any strong language, as much as he wants to, because he wants to see what sides they take. He already knows Massu’s, who is ignoring them anyway, and Shige’s surprised at how fast his heart beats in preparation of possibly learning how awful his other band mates actually are.

“The Burning Sun scandal?” Koyama asks, looking up from his phone to give Shige a conflicted look. “That’s all anyone is talking about online. My nephew even sent me screencaps of the chats. I don’t know any of the idols involved, but I’ve heard unflattering things about Seungri. I wouldn’t put it past him to run a shady operation like that.”

“Like what?” Shige prods, trying not to sound too obvious. “Prostitution or pornography, or both?”

Koyama frowns, and it’s so out of place on his face that Shige feels like he’s someone else for a minute. “It’s not either, is it? From what I read, the women involved weren’t aware they were being recorded, or even in their right minds to consent. That makes it wrong, right? And the things those guys were saying in that chatroom...I’m angry just thinking about it. You don’t treat women like that! You don’t treat _anyone_ like that.”

Maybe you _can_ teach an old dog new tricks. Shige tries not to grin too proudly as he nods along with Koyama’s passionate words.

“Why are you bringing this up, Shige?” Tegoshi asks from behind his phone. “Aren’t you just baiting us into another lecture about sexual harassment? Or do you actually think we’re the kind of men who would enjoy watching those videos?”

“I don’t think that,” Shige says honestly. “I’m just making conversation. Like Koyama said, it’s the hot topic lately.”

As usual, Tegoshi sees right through him. “What do you really want to know?”

“If you still see women as flesh vessels in which to stick your dick,” Shige snaps, his patience disappearing at Tegoshi’s call-out. “Because Takki’s thinking about letting girls join the agency, and I won’t stand for either of you saying creepy things about high school uniforms or encouraging the male juniors to look at them in a sexual way.”

Nobody speaks for a beat, then Tegoshi mutters darkly, “I’m not allowed to talk about high school girls anymore,” while Koyama gets this dreamy look in his eyes and simply coos, “Girl Johnnys...”

“Would they still be called Johnnys?” Massu wonders out loud, oblivious to the tension in the room. Or maybe he’s purposely diffusing it. “I always thought we’d be Julies once she took over. Takkis? Anything other than Johnnys sounds weird, but it wouldn’t be very gender-inclusive to keep it that way.”

Shige’s frustration is interrupted by a rare streak of pride, even though he’s not entirely responsible for Massu’s wokeness, but Tegoshi’s bad attitude changes that pretty quickly.

“I don’t care whether girls join the agency or not,” Tegoshi says in this indifferent voice that is 100% fake. “It has nothing to do with me.”

“Even if they backdance for us on tour?” Massu asks, and Shige’s so happy to have an ally that he could jump across the room and hug him. Except that they’re both adverse to sudden physical contact, off camera anyway, so Shige just appreciates him from afar.

Meanwhile, Tegoshi stares Massu down. “If they backdance for us, I won’t talk to them, just like I don’t talk to any women or girls anymore, even if they want me to. No matter what I say, it’s considered harassment. I’m not a rapist or a pedophile, and I’m tired of being treated like I am.”

“Of course you’re not either of those horrible things,” Koyama rushes to console their youngest, ignoring Tegoshi’s blatant leave-me-alone cues to throw his arms around their youngest member like he can squeeze out the resentment if he tries hard enough. “Shige’s just making sure the girls will be safe in an agency full of scary men.”

“I would _never_ touch anyone like that without their consent,” Tegoshi says firmly, redirecting his glare to Shige. “And I’m not attracted to teenage girls, uniforms or not. I just think they’re cute. Stop making me out to be a monster, Kato. I’m not here to be the poster boy for your feminazi revolution.”

Shige swallows hard at the use of his family name from this one. “If the girls backdance for us, I’d hope you’d treat them the same as you would the boys,” is all he says.

“I won’t take just them to dinner, or be alone with any of them anywhere,” Tegoshi tells him firmly. “I won’t let them put me in a position to be accused of anything.”

“Okaaay,” Koyama jumps in, shaking Tegoshi a few times like he can get him to shut up that way. “Let’s just wait and see what happens, yeah? I think it’s great that we’re going to start letting girls join. Those K-pop girl groups are so talented and fun! I’d love to see something like that come out of Johnny’s. I’d go to their concerts for sure.”

Shige’s still trying to calm his ruffled feathers after Tegoshi’s explosion, so all he does is nod. Thankfully, their break is over then, and Tegoshi’s “on” switch flips back like he’d never gotten upset. Despite the situation, Shige admires how easily Tegoshi can put on his idol face for the fans. Maybe he could put on that face for the female juniors too.

He’s looking up successful sexual harassment courses in his hotel room later when there’s a timid knock at his door. Expecting Koyama, he simply hollers out for the person to come in because they all have spare keys to each other’s rooms.

It’s Tegoshi, and Shige’s more surprised that he hadn’t just barged in uninvited than the weakness of his knock.

“Hey, can we talk?” Tegoshi asks, and Shige nods, placing his laptop to the side to give the other idol his full attention. “I’m sorry for blowing up at you earlier. I know you don’t think I’m a monster. I’ve been thinking a lot about everything that’s happening in the world right now, and I’m mostly upset that I’ve been contributing to it. I...”

He trails off and Shige waits. With this one, it’s better to let him form words on his own than push him to do it.

“I read the chatroom scripts too,” Tegoshi goes on, staring at the ugly bedspread to the left of where Shige had been sprawled out working on his laptop. “The things those guys were saying were beyond fucked up, but that’s not what upset me the most. It was the random men on the street who were asked their thoughts on the scandal and said it was no different than sharing porn, the comments all over the Internet that defended the idols who said those horrible things as just men being men. It upset me because I’ve made those excuses too.”

Shige breathes deeply. “I haven’t seen those reactions, only the outrage.”

“Don’t look for them,” Tegoshi says so forcefully that Shige nods. “This whole time, I’ve been defending myself and saying there’s nothing wrong with looking at girls that way, but I’ve been wrongly assuming that other men know when to _stop_. Just because I wouldn’t touch a high school girl doesn’t mean someone else wouldn’t, and by normalizing it I’m basically condoning that line being crossed and contributing to _real_ sexual assault.”

“That’s what rape culture is,” Shige explains slowly. “It’s a word that triggers a lot of uncomfortable feelings, I know, but I think you see why it’s necessary. What you just described is the process in which supposedly innocent comments and actions can spiral into things like Burning Sun, especially with our level of influence.”

Tegoshi just nods, and it isn’t until he wipes his eyes that Shige realizes he’d started crying. “I’m sorry, Shige. I’ll do better.”

Shige’s already on his feet and embracing the slightly younger idol before his brain catches up with him. Surprisingly, Tegoshi doesn’t push him away, and _that_ is what tells Shige how remorseful he is about his past statements, how seriously he’s going to think before he speaks from now on.

“Don’t let generations of misogyny weigh on your shoulders alone,” Shige says gently, pulling back enough to look Tegoshi in his watery eyes. “You are only one man. But now you can be one man who builds up women instead of shoving them down. I could certainly use the company.”

Tegoshi smiles, not his trademark idol smile but a real one, and he gives a firm nod. “If we get girl backdancers, I will do everything I can to help them succeed and cheer them on throughout their careers. And teach them how to do their makeup flawlessly.”

“Atta boy,” Shige says facetiously, laughing when Tegoshi punches him half-heartedly in the solar plexus.

*

Shige expects another meeting with Takki after he submits his ten-point proposal to integrate girls into the agency with minimal reputation damage, but all he gets is an email thanking him for his hard work and that it’s “on the agenda.”

Which just means Shige finds out along with everyone else in the agency when the new contracts are finalized. Every single talent is being given the opportunity to sign a new one, even if their previous term wasn’t yet up, and Shige’s still waiting to schedule the meeting with his manager when he learns that the no-dating clause has been taken out completely.

“There’s just all this stuffy language about conducting ourselves as respectable idols in public and not getting into any trouble,” Koyama reports as he shares a scan of the new contract that had been leaked by the first person to receive theirs. “There’s nothing prohibiting any kind of relationship, even within the agency. We could date each other if we want to.”

“Kei-chan, I like you, but I don’t _like_ you,” Tegoshi teases, and Koyama gives him a kissy face.

Shige loads the scan on his own phone and notices what’s _not_ part of the new contract. “There’s no gendered language,” he points out. “Instead of ‘boys’ or ‘men’, it just says ‘people’ or ‘individuals’.”

“Preparing to hire girls, clearly,” Massu adds, appearing pleased at the turn of events himself. “It’s good that they will be held to the same standards as we are and not anything stricter.”

The other three nod and continue critiquing the new contract. There’s now a minimum requirement of five days off per month, with drama filming and travelling for TV shows not produced by the agency still counting as work, and failure to meet the minimum requires expressed written consent from the talent and cannot exceed more than six months of the year. Additionally, after ninety days from the signing date, the talent will be eligible for paid training and education in the field of their choice, along with mandatory monthly psychological counselling, or more at their request.

“’Talents will associate with controversial or political agencies as their own entity, not as an official representative of Johnny’s and Associates, and any negative backlash will not be reflective of the Agency or the talent’s debuted group, if applicable’,” Shige reads out loud. “Looks like I’m going to Tokyo Pride this year.”

“I’ll go with you,” Massu offers, and Shige’s surprise must show on his face because he goes on. “I’m going to be my own entity here soon, so I may as well get a head start on the backlash.”

“What are you even talking about?” Shige asks.

“Remember how I said I wanted to get married?” Massu counter-asks, and Shige nods amidst the gasps of shock from the other two. “Well, I’ll be marrying a man, so I should probably go to Pride too.”

“Massu is getting _married_?!” Koyama practically shrieks.

“Be louder,” Massu says. “I don’t think the entire building heard you.”

Shige blinks. “You’re gay?”

“I guess.” Massu shrugs. “I’ve been with a man for ten years, so if that makes me gay, so be it.”

“But it’s still not legal...” Koyama trails off.

“I don’t care,” Massu says. “It’s more about having our relationship recognized in the public eye than in the courts of Japan. I can still have a wedding without a marriage license. I can even have it in a church.”

“I _knew_ you were gay,” Tegoshi says, folding his arms and looking proud of himself. “No one as fashionable as you can be straight. It’s biology.”

Massu rolls his eyes. “If we were all stereotypes, you’d be gay too.”

“Only half,” Tegoshi says with a wink, and now Koyama’s gasping at him.

Shige decides to spare him the lecture on how that wording is actually problematic in favor of reading the rest of the contract. The payment part is the same, tiered dependent on seniority and popularity, and Shige’s grateful that whoever scanned this had the foresight to blur out their own payment offer. Nothing else jumps out at him until he gets to the bottom, where there are two signature lines and another blur at what is clearly the original talent’s debuted group name.

“We are contracting with both Johnnys _and_ our respective groups,” Shige says, looking up to find three pairs of confused eyes. “That means they can’t disband any of us until the term is up.”

“That’s huge,” Koyama declares, and Shige nods. “I can’t tell you how many times I thought they’d pull the plug on NEWS over the years.”

“Have they ever disbanded anyone?” Massu asks. “I can only think of Takki & Tsubasa, and that was on their own terms.”

“Just because they haven’t doesn’t mean they _can’t_ ,” Tegoshi says softly. “I don’t know about you, but it’s comforting to know they can’t just end us because we have a bad run or something.”

“Or scandals,” Koyama adds bitterly. “No more forced hiatuses.”

“I wonder if we’ll have two group lines on ours,” Massu says to Tegoshi. “We haven’t done anything as TegoMasu in a long time, just our radio show.”

“I wonder...” Tegoshi trails off.

“So, Massu,” Koyama says, a grin forming on his face. “Tell us all about your future husband!”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Massu tells him, and Shige thinks he might actually be enjoying keeping them in suspense like this. “Apparently, we both have to fill out an additional contract before we can announce it. It’s called a ‘consensual relationship agreement’.”

“He _works with us_?!” Koyama exclaims, looking around like Massu’s fiancé is going to jump out of the wall. “How have you kept it a secret all this time?”

“Easily,” Massu answers. “You would not believe how oblivious people are when you’re with someone of the same sex. We have literally kissed in this room and none of you said anything.”

“It’s practically expected from us in this industry,” Tegoshi adds. “I know who it is now, but I’ll wait for your consent contract or whatever.”

“Thanks,” Massu says dryly. “That’s oddly considerate of you.”

“Or he really doesn’t know, but wants you to think he does,” Shige suggests.

Massu nods. “That’s more like it.”

“We’ll find out soon enough~” Tegoshi says with a shrug.

That’s when Shige’s phone goes off, an email from his manager scheduling his contract meeting for next week with a draft of the document attached. A wave of panic hits him for absolutely no reason, lingering until the .pdf has loaded on his phone.

“I got mine,” he announces. “It looks the same as the scan, except...”

“Except what?” Koyama prompts.

Shige has to read the additional paragraph three times before he believes what it says. “I’m being offered an administrative post as ‘social development coordinator’,” he relays. “I will be responsible for providing detailed information regarding social interactions and etiquette so that the talents are continuously educated in what behavior is appropriate and inappropriate in both the workplace and the public eye. The structure and format will be left up to me, with suggested intervals of monthly topics and one annual seminar on sexual harassment.”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” Koyama comments. “Are you going to accept it?”

“I have to,” Shige says, realizing it as he says it. “Last year’s sensitivity training was a joke. I have the information and the passion to really make a difference around here. And it will pave the way to welcome girls into our agency, whenever that happens.”

Koyama nods like this is bad news, and Shige scrolls down to the bottom and shoves his phone into Koyama’s face.

“I still have my NEWS line,” Shige points out. “And I’m going to sign it.”

Koyama grins and head-butts him like his beloved cat always did.

“Oh, here’s mine,” Tegoshi says, looking bored until he gets to a section that has him sitting straight up in his seat, eyes wide. “They want me to incorporate a soccer club within the agency! Along with three other talents—probably including that Kitayama from Kisumai—we’ll be setting up interoffice tournaments and teaching the juniors life skills like healthy competition and proper exercise. This is amazing!”

“You better let the girls on your team when they get here,” Shige tells him.

Tegoshi scoffs. “Obviously.”

“ _Do you have a TegoMasu line?_ ” Massu hisses so sharply that Shige half-expects smoke to pour out of his ears.

“Oh, I didn’t look,” Tegoshi replies, taking his sweet time scrolling to the bottom. “Yup! There it is. We’re stuck together for another three years.”

“If I sign it,” Massu mutters, and Tegoshi rolls his eyes because he knows Massu’s full of shit. “I wonder if I’ll get any special side job.”

“Maybe we’ll get our cooking show!” Shige exclaims, then falls quiet. “That would have been on mine though.”

“TV shows aren’t in our contracts,” Massu tells him. “There’s still hope.”

“You two together in the kitchen would be hilarious,” Koyama says. “You argue over how food should exist like an old married couple.”

“I’d watch it,” Tegoshi says airily. “If I have time.”

Massu’s phone beeps next, but his reaction is more of subdued pleasure than excitement. “I’m officially a costume designer!” he announces. “Not just for us, but for the other groups and juniors too, if I want.”

“God help them all,” Tegoshi mumbles, and Massu throws a wrapped piece of hard candy at him.

“Don’t worry, Shige,” Massu starts, and Shige’s confused until he goes on. “I will make sure your girls are dressed respectfully.”

“They’re not _my_ girls,” Shige rushes to correct him. “But thank you.”

“That just leaves me,” Koyama says needlessly, shaking his phone like that’s going to make the email appear. “Maybe mine is taking longer since I’m still in trouble.”

Shige frowns and leans over to wrap his arms around Koyama’s shoulders, which he can only do when they’re sitting. “You’ll be a newscaster again someday. I know you will.”

“That was a separate contract,” Koyama says quietly. “I was an employee of Nippon TV, not Johnny’s.”

He sighs so hard that Shige’s lifted up and down from the force, and as though the power of their combined thought had willed it to be, an email from Koyama’s manager with an attachment appears in his message notifications.

Shige starts to pull away to give him his privacy with such a sensitive document, but Koyama keeps him where he is. “I don’t care if you know how much I make,” he says.

Shige looks away anyway, glancing over to where Tegoshi’s playing games and Massu’s texting someone, probably his future husband. Koyama’s breathing stays even as he carefully reads every word of the draft, and Shige frowns at their leader not being offered any extra work until he gets to the bottom and starts to shake with silent sobs.

“What is it?” Shige asks, peering over his shoulder. “You have a NEWS line, right?”

 _That_ gets Massu and Tegoshi’s attention, but Koyama nods while crying so hard that he can’t speak. He just points to the subscript beneath his NEWS line, which is just the printed kanji of his name plus his title within the group.

“Is it because it says ‘leader’?” Shige asks slowly, and Koyama nods. “Did none of your other contracts say that?”

Koyama shakes his head, wipes his face on his shirt (Massu scrunches up his nose in distaste), and inhales sharply. “It didn’t feel real until now,” he says in a shaky voice. “There was even a whole paragraph about leader duties like motivating you all to do your best and making sure you are taking care of yourselves, and it didn’t hit me until I saw it printed next to my name.”

“You don’t need a contract to do any of that,” Massu points out. “You’ve been doing it since the day we were formed.”

“Now, it’s official,” Tegoshi says, his own eyes bright as he invites himself into Koyama and Shige’s hug. “Leader~”

“He’s been the leader for seven years!” Massu exclaims. “That’s almost half of our group life!”

“Massu doesn’t understand your feelings,” Tegoshi says apologetically to Koyama. “He’s going to make a bad husband.”

Massu rolls his eyes. “Yes, that’s why _I’m_ the one getting married.”

“When will that be, by the way?” Koyama asks through his sniffles. “I want to make sure I’m free.”

“August fourth,” Massu tells them. “It’s going to be a huge ostentatious wedding. We had to hide for so long that we’re coming out with a bang.”

“I can’t wait,” Shige says. “I’ve always wanted to go to a gay wedding.”

Massu gives him a sheepish smile. “You could be my best man, if you’d like.”

“What? Really?” Shige clings to Koyama for his own support now, and Tegoshi even reaches around to clap Shige on the back. “You want _me_ to be your best man?”

Massu nods. “Why do you look so surprised? You’re my best friend.”

“I am?” Shige replies, absolutely astonished at the revelation. “I had no idea you felt so strongly toward me,” he adds, glancing guiltily over to Koyama.

“It’s okay to have two best friends, Shige,” Koyama says gently. “You could even have _three_.”

“Nah,” Shige says, at the same time Tegoshi says, “I’m good.”

The hand continuing to squeeze his shoulder is enough, and Shige’s grateful to be contractually bound to these guys for the unforeseeable future.

*

With so many changes happening quickly, Shige’s first monthly social awareness bulletin due a week after he signs his contract, the process of integrating girls into the agency moves at a snail’s pace. It may not be on Shige’s list of things to care about at the moment, but that doesn’t mean it’s not in the back of his mind every time he does his administrative work.

“I wonder if they’re going to even tell me before they announce it,” Shige mutters during movie night with Koyama. They’re watching _A Star is Born_ and Shige is trying to distract himself from the uncomfortable Grammy’s scene.

“They’d have to, right?” Koyama replies, sounding just as desperate for something else to think about as Shige is. He hasn’t stopped crying since Lady Gaga first sang Shallow. “Isn’t the whole purpose of your new job to run damage control for it?”

“I would think so.” Shige sighs as he tries to stretch out in Koyama’s koala hold. “I’m just impatient. I want to at least know if they’re still doing it.”

“Didn’t you say it was going to take a couple years?” Koyama asks gently. “Focus on the present time, Shige. You’re going to need all the time you can get to prepare these boys to have girls in their space. Without telling them.”

“’Their space’,” Shige scoffs. “The only time men say that is when they want to degrade women and not be called out on it.”

Koyama just hugs him tighter. “I love how you make me a better man.”

Shige’s face relaxes, the movie forgotten. “I do?”

“Shige!” Koyama exclaims, feigning offense without loosening his grip of Shige’s torso. “Haven’t I been good lately? I even have a girlfriend!”

“I’m not praising you for not being a fuckboy,” Shige says firmly, and Koyama sighs. “And she’s ten years younger than you.”

“I can’t win with you,” Koyama mutters into Shige’s shoulder.

“Good thing _we’re_ not dating,” Shige says, and they both laugh.

“If we were, we would have _definitely_ told the other members before they had to find out from a press conference!” Koyama says bitterly.

“Still salty about that, huh?” Shige asks needlessly.

“I am the leader!” Koyama roars. “I should have known _first_!”

“Honestly, you were the only one who didn’t know it was Nakamaru,” Shige tells him, patting him on the head for good measure. “I knew the minute Massu asked me to be his best man, because the only reason he wouldn’t have asked Nakamaru is if he was _marrying_ him.”

“You could have told me!” Koyama pouts so hard that Shige can feel it against his skin. “Instead, I had to look like an idiot on national television as the only one of us shocked at the announcement.”

“They were both there!” Shige hollers back. “Why else would Nakamaru be at Massu’s press conference announcing his marriage?”

“I don’t know, moral support?” Koyama sighs again, and Shige takes pity on him and strokes his hair. “If you ever get married, promise you’ll tell me first.”

“I’m not getting married,” Shige tells him for the umpteenth time. “You’re as bad as my parents.”

“Shige, I—” Koyama starts, and Shige joins in on the rest: “just want you to be happy.” Koyama frowns. “Are you really happy alone?”

“I’m not alone,” Shige tells him, gesturing grandly to the pair of them. “We’re still going to be watching movies like this when you’re married with a flock of kids.”

“Oh, Shige,” Koyama says in that patronizing voice everyone seems to get when they think they know Shige better than he himself does. “It’s not the same, right? You and I aren’t _intimate_.”

“I know how much money you make, and I’ve held back your hair while you threw up,” Shige says pointedly. “How much more intimate do we need to be?”

At this point, Shige’s just waiting for Koyama to come out and say it, to make it about sex like that’s the most important part of a relationship, but it doesn’t come. Koyama just squeezes him and manages to crawl even _further_ into his lap.

“If that’s all Shige needs to live a happy life filled with love, then my future wife will have to understand.”

The rest of the movie is upsetting and Koyama sobs freely, but Shige can’t stop smiling.

*

Massu’s wedding is obnoxiously extravagant. Shige’s pretty sure that neither Massu nor Nakamaru give half a shit about rare imported flowers or a ten-foot ice sculpture shaped like a heart, and yet here Shige stands wrapped in Versace while he waits for the grooms to walk up the aisle.

On the other side of the alter, Ueda looks more like a bouncer than a best man, rocking on his heels with his hands folded behind his back and glancing around like he’s looking for nefarious activity. He catches Shige looking and Shige instantly darts his eyes away, shamelessly terrified of that one and only a little confident that Koyama would jump over the pews to save him if there was an altercation.

As it is, Koyama’s already choked up, seated in the first row with Massu’s family because it’s practically the same thing. Tegoshi would be there too, but he’s stationed at the piano ready to sing the grooms down the aisle with an original ballad he had written for them. Shige would be touched at Tegoshi’s uncharacteristic selflessness if Tegoshi hadn’t done it to get girls, and boys, because now that he’s allowed to date he’s been doing a _lot_ of it.

On the other side of the chapel, Nakamaru’s family is joined by the remaining letters of KAT-TUN, all four of them with their entire families. Akanishi’s in a wheelchair at the end of the pew, but Kamenashi’s right next to him daring anyone to say something with sharp eyes. Behind them, Meisa and the kids look like they’ve just walked out of a bridal magazine, while Taguchi’s wife and all of the Tanaka brothers could have been at a yakuza wedding.

If seeing the original members of KAT-TUN under one roof wasn’t nostalgic enough, Yamashita and Ryo were sitting across the aisle from each other a few rows back because they couldn’t decide which side to sit on and ended up compromising. Uchi’s next to Ryo, of course, and the rest of Kanjani8 and basically the entire agency are distributed between the two sides of the giant cathedral. Shige’s pretty sure that Massu and Nakamaru had a bet over whose side would get more people, though he’s just as certain that he doesn’t want to know the terms.

Soft chords sound as Tegoshi starts to play, and Koyama’s niece begins to walk down the aisle, distributing flowers and earning a laugh when she presents a handkerchief to her already-sobbing uncle. She’s followed by the two grooms separately and alone because they are not objects to give away (Shige’s influence, naturally), Tegoshi’s angelic voice crooning about love and forever until they’re both standing at the alter.

Massu doesn’t look nervous at all, and Shige supposes he wouldn’t be. For him, the hard part is over, the waiting and sneaking around and _lying_ , and this may as well be a concert encore for as relieved as Massu is right now. He could fall on his face or forget his vows or sneeze into their kiss and it wouldn’t matter because he’s marrying the love of his life, even if it’s not legally recognized in this country.

Tokyo Pride had been interesting. Management had wanted to make a TV special out of their appearance, but Massu was the one to shoot that down with a pointed statement about his lifestyle not existing for viewer consumption. Despite all of his activism, it’s the first time Shige hasn’t been expressly forbidden to attend the festival, and all of the rainbows and supportive signs and free hugs were overwhelming.

The best part was all the people he met, who flailed over them not because they were famous idols but because they were publicly supporting the LGBTQ community. Shige gave up feeling guilty about accepting praise for being an ally around the eighth or ninth colorful person who stared into his eyes and thanked him profusely for everything he’s done, while Massu spent the entire time beaming at everyone who congratulated him and said they were proud of him for coming out.

Shige remembers this as the one priest in Japan who had agreed to marry two men seems to be giving an actual sermon about the same kind of love and forever that Tegoshi had been singing about, that the festival goers had been protesting their rights for, the kind that Shige doesn’t want or need in his own life. It’s a severe disconnect from what’s in his head and what’s in his heart, because right now he’s so happy for Massu that his feelings are leaking out of his eyes, but it’s entirely for Massu.

He can only see the back of Massu’s head, but that doesn’t stop him from sniffling when they exchange their vows and slide gold bands onto each other’s fingers. His heart warms even more when they kiss, despite the catcalls from Akanishi and Ryo, and when Shige finally does get a good look at Massu’s face, all he can see is pure bliss. Shige’s seen Massu happy many times over the years, usually over something simple like gyoza or Tegoshi losing his voice, but right now he’s positively _radiating_ with a feeling that doesn’t even exist in Shige’s vocabulary.

Koyama earns another laugh when Massu stops on his way back down the aisle to pat his head, and Shige’s glad that Tegoshi had slipped into the seat next to Koyama so they could be hot messes together. As for Shige himself, he and Ueda follow with an awkward synchronized stroll, then Shige stands to the side and waits for a tall mass of tears to crash into him.

He’s not disappointed, though he seems to buy one get one free with a smaller version as well. Just like during concert encores, he escorts two crying idols out of the church and into one of the cars taking them to the reception hall, which is naturally as intensely decorated as the church had been.

It feels more like Countdown backstage than a wedding reception, only with more alcohol and less cameras. Shige catches up with everyone he never has an opportunity to talk to anymore, and after the tenth time he explains why he’s not interested in getting married, he starts fabricating this elaborate tale of longing for the one who got away.

“You’re ridiculous,” Koyama says the next time their circles intersect. “I’ve had three people come up to me and lecture me about breaking your heart. Fujigaya was so convincing that I actually had to remind myself that we were never like that.”

“That guy is such a romantic,” Shige says with a laugh. “Who says it was you, anyway? Maybe I’m harboring unrequited feelings toward our groom.”

Koyama bursts out laughing. “Yeah, okay. It’s obviously me.”

“It could be Tegoshi,” Shige points out, forcing a yearning glance over to where Tegoshi’s flipping through a notepad of diagrams with Kitayama like the unromantic tool he is.

“Nope. It’s me.” Koyama grabs Shige’s hands and swings him toward the dance floor. “Luckily for you, I am between girlfriends right now and probably drunk enough to make out with you.”

“What every guy with a lifelong crush wants to hear!” Shige says facetiously, then halts Koyama’s puckered face. “Don’t you dare kiss me.”

Koyama puffs up his cheeks and pouts. “ _Fine_. Dance with me then.”

That’s an acceptable substitute, even if Koyama’s just as clingy during a slow dance as he is while watching sad movies. It’s comforting to hold him as they sway though, the emotional day and everything that led up to it taking its toll on Shige’s mind until he can finally relax in (one of) his best friend’s arms.

“Fujigaya’s staring at us with hearts in his eyes,” Koyama reports, and Shige stifles a laugh into Koyama’s shoulder. “I didn’t think people did that outside of anime.”

“Okay, a little kiss won’t hurt,” Shige gives in, and Koyama literally jumps for joy until Shige pulls back and stills him. “But it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Shige, I’m _straight_ ,” Koyama says, then leans forward to plant one on him.

It’s like any other time he’s kissed somebody, all mechanics and no feeling, but it seems to satisfy their crowd of interoffice shippers who hoot and cheer. He tries to look affected when he pulls back, but Koyama has such a silly expression on his face that Shige can’t stop his laughter and hopes he makes it to Koyama’s shoulder in time.

“Now you did it,” Shige tells him later, when their colleagues keep congratulating them like they’re the ones who had gotten married. “Your next girlfriend will be hated more by these guys than the fans.”

“Oh, Shige, it’s 2019,” Koyama says dismissively, and Shige raises an eyebrow. “Polyamory is a thing.”

Shige just sighs and resigns himself to a future where everyone thinks he and Koyama are together like that. It’s no different than their careers up until this point anyway.

“What’s the difference?” Tegoshi slurs near the end of the night when everyone’s sufficiently toasted, including the grooms who are cradling their respective food babies from gorging on all of the delicious catering and wedding cake.

“The difference between what?” Shige replies, just as lit. They’re sitting at a table mindlessly watching Koyama engage in what looks like a very emotional discussion with Yamashita and Ryo that he will hopefully forget in the morning.

“What Massu and Nakamaru have, and what you and Kei-chan have?”

Shige frowns at him. “You too? You should know better than anyone that we’re not actually dating.”

“What does dating even mean?” Tegoshi goes on, lulling his head to the side and letting it drop on Shige’s shoulder. “Aren’t they just words to describe levels of companionship that are determined subjectively?”

“You’re unusually philosophical tonight,” Shige comments.

“I don’t see the difference,” Tegoshi says. “I know you and Kei-chan don’t have sex, but neither do Massu and Nakamaru. They don’t live together either, and they’re not going to until after they retire. You’ve both known each other forever, and you’re both each other’s most important person. If anything, you and Kei-chan are more touchier with each other than they are. So, what’s the difference?”

“I didn’t know that, about them,” Shige says flatly. “I don’t actually have an answer for you.”

“It’s just words,” Tegoshi repeats. “Massu and Nakamaru say they’re husbands, so that’s what they are. You and Kei-chan are best friends, work partners, whatever you want to call it, but there’s no difference.”

“I guess it’s...” Shige starts, struggling to make sense through the mush of alcohol in his head. “Sharing your _whole_ life with someone. Making decisions with the other person in mind, taking into account two people’s schedules and opinions instead of your own. I don’t do that.”

“Kei-chan does,” Tegoshi says. “He thinks about the three of us before he does _anything_. That’s why he feels so guilty whenever something bad happens, because he thinks he should have considered how it would affect us.”

“He doesn’t do it on a marriage level,” Shige insists. “If he did, he wouldn’t have gotten a cat.”

Tegoshi lifts his head with what looks like all of his energy and leans forward to look at Shige’s face. “Because you’re allergic.”

“Yeah,” Shige admits, feeling the heat flood his face. “Which is fine, because we’re not together, and I have no problem hanging out at my place all the time. He even takes a shower and changes clothes if he’s been petting her before he comes over so that there isn’t any cat hair lingering on him.”

“Oh, in that case, he definitely doesn’t love you,” Tegoshi says sarcastically.

“There’s never been a question of how he feels about me,” Shige tells him. “Trust me.”

Tegoshi just sighs like this in any way affects his life, and Shige rolls his eyes.

“Why do you care, anyway? Aren’t you working your way through the entire population of Japan, female _and_ male?”

“Yes, and it’s unsatisfying,” Tegoshi replies, and it’s so blunt that Shige unsuccessfully muffles his snickers. “I try to build connections with people, but they’re all too new. They don’t _know_ me. They get all weird the first time I’m ‘off’ around them, like I’m supposed to be an idol robot all the time.”

Shige flings an arm around Tegoshi’s shoulders and gives him a comforting squeeze. “In their defense, your resting bitch face _is_ scary if you’re not used to it.”

Tegoshi laughs, then falls silent. “I’m not around, I don’t always want to talk on the phone or video chat. Hell, I don’t even want to have sex after the initial excitement wears off. It feels like a chore.”

“Wow,” Shige says, eyes as wide as he can manage in his drunken state. “I had no idea you felt that way.”

“I’m just finding it out,” Tegoshi tells him. “I never dated properly before, you know? I always had to hide it, so they didn’t expect much of me. Now that I have permission, I have to actually pull my weight in the relationship, and I don’t want to.”

“I wonder if you waited too long,” Shige thinks out loud. “We’re grown men now. You’re not going to adapt easily to having another person in your life.”

“A _stranger_ ,” Tegoshi corrects. “It would be okay if it was someone I already knew. I thought about dating Kitayama for a minute until I hooked up with him and learned how lazy he is. I don’t have time for that.”

Shige makes a face at the thought of the two of them together. “Please spare me the details.”

“Can I go home with you?” Tegoshi asks suddenly, and Shige cuts his eyes over to find Tegoshi’s blurry face looking tired and frustrated. “Everything is just so much and it’s okay when you’re there.”

He doesn’t make sense, but Shige nods anyway. With the way Ryo has been glancing over, Tegoshi might end up doing something he regrets if Shige turns him away, especially when he’s so uncharacteristically vulnerable.

Shige spares a passing thought to Koyama, now hugging Yamashita whose eyes have more expression in them right now than Shige’s seen in twenty years, but that one knows what he’s doing. Koyama’s vulnerability is a default setting; Tegoshi’s is a warning sign.

Tegoshi waits until they’re in the car to crawl into Shige’s lap, way too big but oddly comfortable, and the soft puffs of air on Shige’s neck are slow enough that he thinks Tegoshi fell asleep. But when they get to Shige’s place, Tegoshi sits right up and climbs out of the car after Shige, both of them thanking the driver before stumbling up to Shige’s door.

Once inside, Shige pours them both some water, because he is a responsible adult even if he doesn’t feel like one right now. Tegoshi drains his glass and almost knocks it over as he sets it down, giving Shige an apologetic glance before tugging and whining his way out of his clothes.

“Relax, I’m not going to jump you,” Tegoshi says from somewhere inside his shirt; Shige takes pity on him and helps him find his sleeves.

“I didn’t think you were,” Shige replies honestly, the thought not crossing his mind, though anyone who invited themselves over would think the exact opposite with the way Tegoshi’s clothes make a path from the kitchen to the bedroom.

He had expected Tegoshi to help himself to Shige’s bed, but Shige’s not that mad since he doesn’t hate sleeping next to someone as much as other more suffocating aspects of a relationship. He sheds his own clothes with only a little trouble and flops on top of the covers, as it’s mid summer and Shige hadn’t run the aircon at all today.

Tegoshi flops onto his side facing Shige, his nose a centimeter away from Shige’s arm and his hand so close to Shige’s that Shige could stretch out his pinky and make contact. Shige does exactly that, and Tegoshi makes a soft noise of contentment as he lifts his hand to loosely thread their fingers together.

Before Shige can define this level of intimacy, he’s out. When he wakes up, Tegoshi’s curled up on his other side, entirely too far away. Shige’s head is pounding too hard for any coherent thought to arise, so he rolls over and flings an arm around Tegoshi’s bare waist before it registers in his brain that he even moved.

Tegoshi makes another one of those soft noises and leans back, while Shige’s awake enough to question whether it’s bad to cuddle someone who can’t consent. Before he can get too anxious about it, Tegoshi flips onto his other side and buries his nose in Shige’s neck.

“’Morning,” he mumbles. “My brain hurts.”

Shige’s chuckle shakes them both, reminding him of his own headache, and pulling Tegoshi closer seems to dull the pain. Then Tegoshi wriggles out of his embrace and stretches with a cringe, finally opening his eyes to regard Shige peering at him through half an eye.

“How bad is my hair?” Tegoshi asks, lifting a hand to the curls that have flattened on one side and frizzed out on the other.

“Salvageable,” Shige answers. His voice is about an octave lower than normal and gritty. “You can take a shower if you want.”

“I don’t want. I _need_ ,” Tegoshi whines. “I have work.”

Shige makes a noise of acknowledgment and falls right back to sleep while Tegoshi’s in the shower. He has a vague recollection of Tegoshi giggling and kissing his forehead before he leaves, but that could have been his imagination.

It’s later in the day when he gets up properly and checks in on Koyama, who sheepishly admits that he spent the night with both Yamashita _and_ Ryo in a giant pile of limbs on Yamashita’s waterbed, and Shige’s only a little jealous. He wasn’t really close with those guys when they were all in the same group, but Ryo gave the best hugs.

“He was going to leave, you know,” Koyama says quietly, for which Shige is grateful because his head is still throbbing. “Until the new contracts, until his solo album and tour. He didn’t feel appreciated. Neither of them did. They were just vessels of productivity under Johnny and even Julie’s regime that were programmed to spit out money like an ATM machine. Ryo-chan’s words.”

“And now?” Shige prompts. “I know they both signed their new contracts, but are they happier?”

“They’re getting there,” Koyama says. “Though you know I had to rub it in that they’re just as miserable without us as when we were six.”

Shige laughs. “That’s horrible. I’m sure it had nothing to do with us.”

“Yeah, I know, but I still had to say it.” Koyama pauses, and Shige feels just as warm as when he’d been cuddling Tegoshi this morning. “They both said they’re proud of you, by the way. You’ve surpassed their expectations as a writer and an activist.”

“They can tell me that themselves,” Shige says pointedly. “My number hasn’t changed.”

“That probably won’t happen,” Koyama says sadly. “You know how they are. How we all are. We spent a nice night together, but that’s all it was.”

“A nice night, huh?” Shige teases.

“Shige! It wasn’t like that!” Koyama’s so flustered that Shige laughs out loud. “I told you, I’m straight.”

“The more you say it, the less I believe it,” Shige tells him.

Koyama sighs. “Trust me, if I ever do that with a man, you’ll be the first to know.”

“I’ll be the first to know because it’ll be _with me_ ,” Shige emphasizes. “It’s inevitable.”

“You don’t even do that!”

“You don’t know what I do or don’t do. I don’t tell you everything.”

“That is true. You didn’t tell me you took Tegoshi home last night.”

Shige laughs while Koyama makes this fake gasp. “Jealous?”

“If you cuddled him all night, then yes I am,” Koyama says firmly. “You never cuddle me, and we never sleep together.”

“You cuddle me first, and you always go home to your cat,” Shige tells him. “It wasn’t all night anyway. Just the morning.”

“Still jealous,” Koyama mutters. “I’m sleeping over the next morning we have off.”

“What’s the difference between us and NakaMasu?” Shige asks suddenly, recalling Tegoshi’s drunken ramblings from last night.

Koyama pauses while he presumably thinks about it. Shige expects him to say sex or living together, because he probably doesn’t know Massu’s business as well as Tegoshi does, but he makes a deflated noise like the question had stumped him.

“I don’t know,” he finally replies. “We don’t feel that way toward each other, but the rest of it is basically the same.”

“Tell you what,” Shige begins. “If you don’t find some poor sucker to marry you before you turn fifty, we’ll do it.”

“That’s so far away,” Koyama says slowly, sounding sad at being alone for so long. “You think it’ll be legal by then?”

“If I have anything to say about it, it will,” Shige answers firmly.

“Deal,” Koyama agrees, and Shige smiles even though Koyama can’t see it. “See, I knew you’d want to get married someday.”

Shige rolls his eyes and hangs up the call. Koyama calls right back and Shige humors him for a little while longer before begging off the phone. He’s been around people for the past week leading up to Massu’s wedding and in serious need of some alone time.

Thankfully, they all accept that about him.

*

NEWS has been fortunate enough to put out an album every year since their last reformation, which has led to a lather-rinse-repeat cycle of recording, promoting, and touring that has Shige telling the change of the seasons by what kind of work he’s doing.

The social development coordinating gives him a little more variety, though he’s decided that sticking with the same twelve topics year after year will help ingrain the basics into thick adolescent heads by the tried and true approach of repetition.

This year’s sexual harassment seminar is much more successful than the last time, and not just because Shige’s allowed to say the words “rape culture” now. He made it an interactive experience, easily acquiring volunteers from his attentive audience of extroverts and putting them in situations to personally understand why seemingly harmless compliments and microaggressions are actually harmful.

He hasn’t changed the world yet, but it’s only been a year. Give him time.

The Olympics pretty much halt the entire country’s activities for two weeks. Koyama’s invited to join Sakurai Sho as one of Japan’s commentators for the events and he’s so happy to be announcing again that he practically shines on TV. Shige’s filming a summer drama, set to start airing after the Olympics, but he replays some of the events on his breaks and smiles every time Koyama praises the contestants, their own as well as ones from other countries.

Sometimes Tegoshi joins him at home, other times Shige shows up at Tegoshi’s place instead. He claims it’s solely to play with Emma, but all three of them know the truth. The last time he visited, Tegoshi’s latest datefriend was there and kept reiterating how okay they were with whatever those two were doing together.

It’s 2020. Polyamory is a thing.

The Olympics end and Koyama seems to fly right into Shige’s bed, snuggling him like they’d been apart for two years instead of two weeks, but Shige doesn’t mind. He likes to be close with the others like this, even Massu who has started hugging them more. Now that he’s married to the love of his life, he feels more affection toward the rest of them.

And they finally get their cooking show. Their dynamic seems to be disagreeing on literally everything from seasoning techniques to stacking pans in the cabinet, and the fans eat it up. Shige loves it because he gets to try new recipes and Massu loves it because he gets to eat tasty things. One night Tegoshi pokes Shige in the belly and says he’s getting fat, and it doesn’t upset Shige as much as it would have when he was younger. Besides, Tegoshi squeezes the additional flesh in the rare occurrences he’s the big spoon, so Shige’s not mad at the extra weight at all. Even if Massu just works out more and keeps his washboard abs.

In the back of Shige's mind, he’s still thinking about the girls who haven’t yet been allowed to join the agency. He doesn’t know if the boys are ready for it yet, but they might not ever be. Without exposure to girls at a young age, encouraged to respect them and treat them as equals before the media saturates their brains, there’s only so much he can do.

He expects to be called back into Takki’s office eventually, but it still surprises him when it happens. It’s October and nothing else is going on, a rare break between activities where Shige has enough time off to get lazy. His mandatory five days off had already been met the first week of the month.

“I want you to look at something,” Takki says, much more awake and actively engaged in the world than he had been the first time they’d met, and Shige leans forward as Takki turns his laptop around to face him.

It’s a spreadsheet with columns of number intervals and dates along the side, ranging from last January to just last month. Almost two entire years of data, a steady upward incline if he’s reading it right, but he’s never taken a statistics class and doesn’t actually know what he’s looking at.

“Remember when I told you only a few talents had expressed to me that they wanted to open auditions to girls?” Takki asks, and Shige nods. “This is how much it’s increased since you’ve implemented your social development training.”

Shige’s eyes widen at how drastically the numbers climb now that he knows what they represent, though he still doesn’t understand. “What does this mean?”

“You said they would need to adapt to the idea of working in a mixed environment,” Takki explains. “I think they’ve adapted.”

“Are you saying we’re ready for girls?” Shige asks. He’s more excited about this than he’d expected to be, though he supposes it’s a natural reaction when one’s long-term project is about to go live.

“We’re ready to tell them, at least,” Takki answers. “I’ve called an agency-wide meeting for next Tuesday. I want you to look over your proposal from last year and see if you want to make any changes or updates before then. I think it’s fine, but you’ve developed a lot in the past year as well and might have additional thoughts or concerns.”

Shige nods, pulling out his phone to schedule it in his calendar. “What are the next steps?”

“Opening the doors,” Takki says simply. “To everyone.”

Shige’s still astounded when he meets with his group later, slowly relaying the conversation to make sure he recalls it correctly. Koyama squeals with joy, Massu grins proudly, and Tegoshi’s indifferent but probably secretly hoping to get some good soccer players. He’s been muttering about revenge ever since Kitayama’s team spanked his last season.

“There’s still a chance the public will hate it,” Shige tells them, thinking out loud as well as sharing his thoughts. “I’ve drafted some responses to expected complaints, but there’s nothing to do but wait and see.”

“My niece wants to join,” Koyama says, his eyes sparkling fondly like they always do when he talks about his sister’s kids. “The boys never had an interest in it, but Anne-chan _loves_ it. She watches all of our concerts and picks up the dances really fast! She won’t be old enough for another couple years, but there’s definitely one little girl who will be happy that she’s allowed to be part of our sparkly world.”

“What does neechan think?” Shige asks carefully.

“Neechan never doubted you for a second,” Koyama says firmly. “When I first told her they were thinking about it, and what you were doing to prepare for it, she simply said, ‘If it’s Shige, it’ll be fine’. You know how much she worries, particularly about the youngest, but she wasn’t worried about this. She knew you would succeed.”

“We don’t know that yet,” Shige says sheepishly. “There’s still a lot that could happen between now and then, even after we integrate.”

“It’ll be great,” Koyama tells him. “Even if it’s not easy, it’ll be great.”

The announcement at the jimusho went over as well as expected. There were still a few skeptics who felt that letting in girls would make everyone uncomfortable and create a tense atmosphere, and Shige thought their concerns were valid. He didn’t speak at the meeting, but it was his proposal that Takki was sharing with the entire agency and he was proud nonetheless. Of himself, and of the boys in the building who _didn’t_ make inappropriate comments or noises at the thought of sharing their workspace with girls.

Even if they were just holding it back because they didn’t want to get reprimanded, at least they knew it was wrong.

December seems like a good time as any to release the news to the world, and Shige _is_ involved in that one. Takki thought it would help ease the minds of wary parents and scared little girls to hear from the person who worked hard to make this happen for them, introducing him by his administrative title and mentioning that he’s publicly advocated for gender equality and LGBTQ acceptance within the agency and beyond.

“It’s simple,” he says into the microphone, darting his eyes between flashing cameras with practiced ease. “If any other business refused to hire women, they would be sued for discrimination, and rightfully so. The entertainment industry should be no different. I know there are plenty of girls who can do what our boys do, and I want to meet them. Please send them to audition. We’ll take care of them. Every boy in our agency will treat these girls with respect, like an equal. If they don’t, they will answer to me. Thank you.”

He fields a few questions that he can’t answer, such as whether they will change the agency’s name or continue to allow inter-agency dating after a certain age, but for the most part he feels good about his words. There will undoubtedly be negative backlash, just like when they were allowed to date in the first place, just like when Massu married a man, but Shige’s ready for it. He’s spent the past two years fighting against his own work family to get to this point, hours of frustration and research in addition to his own duties as an idol, and it will all be worth it if one girl shows up to January’s auditions.

“I’m not going to just pass her because she’s a girl,” the main choreographer—who is a woman—says to Shige before they open the doors. “I want her in here as much as you do, but she has to be able to do the job. I don’t give anyone special treatment.”

“I’d be disappointed if you did,” Shige replies.

He lurks behind the scenes, feeling a little nostalgic at all of the little kids and scattered teenagers running around with their number plates, clearly lost and nervous. Usually, active idols aren’t allowed at auditions as to not distract the applicants, but an exception had been made for Shige today. He’s still trying to stay out of the way, just in case.

He makes it until lunch before he starts to feel defeated. Four hours and he hasn’t seen _one_ girl. They had done a middle school survey a few weeks before and a good number of girls had expressed interest in joining a mixed-gender talent agency. Maybe they were waiting for someone else to do it first? To test the waters and report back that it really was a safe and comfortable place?

Instead of eating the catering and looking out over the sea of hopeful boys, Shige imposes on Kanjani8 who are working today and flops right next to Ryo with a big whine.

“It’s hard work trying to change the world, isn’t it?” Ryo says, a little condescendingly, a little sympathetically. He’s not Ryo if he’s not vague.

“I wish we’d had girls around when we were juniors,” Yasu laments as he picks at the hem of his skirt. “I don’t think there would have been such a divide between the two sexes if we’d been trained together, seeing them as equals and rivals like we did with each other.”

“I wouldn’t have been such a shitty boyfriend in my early years, that’s for sure,” Hina adds. “Your perception is really skewed when you only have people like you as an influence. If I had to work with girls, I might have been more comfortable with them.”

“Women are good for balance, right?” Maruyama offers. “Literally the only difference is body parts, but if you go too long only seeing your own, the other seems foreign and unnatural.”

“What are you even talking about?” Yokoyama chides him, and Maru just grins. “My mother taught me how to treat women, but that can only go so far. You have to resist the media, other boys, sometimes even respected male role models who promote the idea that girls are weaker and therefore inferior. Women are stronger than any of us will ever know, mostly from putting up with our shit.”

“Gender is stupid,” Ohkura inputs. “We’re all the same, it’s society that forces us to choose a side. Fuck that. Be nonconforming.”

Shige raises an eyebrow at Ryo, who shrugs.

“It’s nonbinary week,” Yasu explains, and Shige’s even more confused.

He unwinds a little more until they all have to reluctantly get back to work, and Shige returns to the audition center to see more short hair and lanky statures. He pushes down negative thoughts that all his hard work was for nothing, that girls don’t even want to be Johnnys regardless of how they’re treated, and he’s worked himself into a pretty deep spiral when the choreographer from before pokes her head in the back room.

“Kato-san, one of the applicants is a fan and wishes to meet you,” she says crisply. “The audition process is over for today, so your presence won’t be disruptive.”

The least he can do is go meet a fan, especially one who auditioned to be part of his agency. He tries not to look too depressed as he walks out into the main room, putting on his stage face until he sees the small person who’s standing over to the side, clearly waiting for him.

The hair is short, the stature lanky, but she’s definitely a girl, clad in workout sweats and a backwards cap. As he gets closer, he can see beads of sweat on her forehead, her breath a bit ragged from what was undoubtedly a grueling audition.

“Hello!” she says brightly, and Shige can already see her smile lighting up the stage. “I’m Kato too, and I’m twelve years old. Please take care of me.”

She bows politely, and Shige rushes to repeat the gesture. When he lifts back up, he stares incredulously at her, amazed at how happy she is to be there, to meet him.

“I have to say, I didn’t think any girls would show up,” Shige confesses. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

She shrugs. “Someone has to be first, may as well be me.” She bounces a few times, still full of energy, and laughs when she sees his face. “I’m crazy active. I play like three sports. I actually have soccer practice after this.”

Shige can already see Tegoshi coaching her on the field (and her arguing back), and it has him smiling fondly. “I really hope you make it,” is all he says.

“Oh, I will,” she says, and Shige thinks she might give Tegoshi a run for his confidence as well. “I _killed_ the dance routine. I love to dance. I’m not that great at singing, but most of you aren’t.”

Shige chokes on his laughter, because she’s not wrong. “Thank you for coming today,” he tells her, meaning it with everything he has.

“You’ll see me again,” she tells him. “If I don’t make it this time, I’ll be back. I’m not a quitter.”

“We have that in common too,” Shige says, and they smile at each other.

It’s the middle of winter, but Shige takes a walk around the city before he heads home, thinking about the younger Kato’s words and how it’s not over just because one audition session didn’t yield the desired results. There will be more auditions, and the point is that the doors are open to everyone, whether they choose to walk through them or not.

He already succeeded, but he’s not done. If he can gradually condition an entire agency of questionably ethical men to look at women more favorably, he can probably do anything. Not to get too far ahead of himself, but he _does_ have the platform to influence others, whether it’s a novel with political undertones or a blatantly feminist essay.

And according to his contract, he no longer has to hold anything back.

The words start flowing before he gets home, transferring from his phone to his laptop as he tells the story of this adventure from beginning to end. It’s a little long, but he thinks it’s interesting enough to hold someone’s attention, and who knows, it might even inspire someone to do something similar in their lives.

Shige may not get married, and he definitely won’t have any kids, but he can still give something to the next generation, and the one after that, and even the earlier ones that haven’t managed to keep up with social evolution. All the girls who will join Johnny’s thanks to him will be like his children anyway. One of them already has his name.

“That Kato is a pioneer who has more confidence in her pinky finger than this Kato does in his entire body,” Shige says out loud as he writes. “All she did was take an opportunity she was given, but it’s so much more than that to me, who has seen with my own eyes how patriarchal dominance has deteriorated so many men around me. Her mere presence at the audition represents the sun setting on an era of discrimination and rising on a new day of equality. We still have a long way to go, but we’re also a long way from where we once were. I’ll continue to fight for that Kato and all of the girls who want to succeed in this man’s world until it’s our world to share.”

“Shige’s so protective of his girls,” Koyama fawns after Shige reads it to him over the phone. “I wish I was a girl so you could protect me too.”

Shige decides not to point out everything that’s wrong with that statement and take the compliment as it is.

“You’re getting a big head, Shige,” Tegoshi says. “Don’t say things like that unless you can back it up. We know our own.”

Coming from Tegoshi, that’s high praise. He’s also lying right next to Shige, pawing at the laptop like the cute puppy at his feet because he wants Shige’s full attention.

“This phone call could have been an email,” Massu says, then hangs up.

Today, the jimusho. Tomorrow, the _world_.


End file.
